


Be cautious child, the Queens are at war.

by Sansllura



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (its jon he's the one that implied to be dead), Dany is full Mad Queen, EVIL LESBIANS ARE HOT, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Madness, Sansa is into it and also pretty evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19097053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sansllura/pseuds/Sansllura
Summary: They are deranged, sick, twisted; they are out to destroy the world. They fight, fuck, then forgive; they are out to ruin one another.





	Be cautious child, the Queens are at war.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a frenzied state at like 3 am like two weeks ago after seeing a couple dark!daensa posts go around on Tumblr.

Together they are unstoppable. A marriage between darkness and devastation that sways together in a unified dance. Weaving across the floor in a flurry of steps and twirls, uncaring of the blood and bone that lingers behind them.

They are a storm of chaos, an immovable object and an unstoppable force. Wreaking havoc with not a lick of consideration for those unfortunate enough to land themselves beneath their feet.

The Mad Queen and her Cruel Lady. The Dragon and the Wolf. Fire and Ice. They had many names and even more tales of their endeavours- all sealed within history, a future story to frighten daughters into obedience for fear of becoming heartless creatures.

Both of them had once been good people, kind, just, honourable; women that had been beloved. But they were beaten down- again and again- disrespected and undermined until that virtue that had once had the strength to brighten a room, flickered into darkness.

All that pain, and cruelty, and misery- it couldn't have been expected for their innocence to have endured, for their kindness to remain unfailing.

They took the seven kingdoms with fire and blood- they took it with the wrath of a never-ending winter storm.

A lover-turned-kin burned, a burst of flames under the eye of a sister-turned-cousin; was all it took. A simple command to an attentive beast and their only threat died encompassed by fire and calling for their mercy.

They were Queens of the ashes, the monsters who had won.

The Mad Queen and her Cruel Lady. The Dragon and the Wolf. Fire and Ice. Targaryen and Stark. Daenerys and Sansa.

A girl with a heart shrivelled and burnt from the blaze of betrayal. The other with a heart hard and frozen from the cold of loneliness. Kissed by ice and fire.

It is Daenerys violet eyes filled with venom like that of a serpent and her burning touch that makes Sansa weak. She’s suffocated in those eyes and melted at that touch more times then she can count. Those moments she is weak, she will beg and whine like a spoiled little lady, and then mewl and smile when she gets her way. After she always resents it, behaving like a fool too desperate to restrain herself, but the thought of never experiencing the sensation of pleasure at Daenerys call is a thought far more repulsing to her.

It is Sansa's auburn hair that trails down her head like a river of blood and her chilled touch that can bring Daenerys to her knees. She’s drowned in the red of the blood and has trembled at her touch in the darkness of their chambers more than once. Sometimes she wonders if it’s killing her, for nothing good as ever come to her without consequence. The risk is one she is prepared to take, for death is a price worth every penny, if not just for another taste of Sansa.

Lips crashing together bites dirtying their body’s and scratches marking their backs. They are out to destroy one another to consume the others mind body and soul. But it is a losing battle.

The muffled screams and whimpers are not cries of victory.

They are destroying one another all the while losing themselves in the process.

Rebellion is futile- you cannot kill chaos. Destruction cannot be slain. They rule without question- on their own grounds, it would take a madman or just an idiot to challenge that.

They test each other though. Quarrels that sizzle with tension and leave the court clutching those closest to them in despair, as they pray to the old gods and the new that they live to see another day. Their battles send the keep into silence as the people wait with bated breath for an eruption to rip them from their beds or for the Keep to once again be engulfed by flames.

The clashes between them never end in an explosion, never result in their palace crumbling. It brings them to their chambers- in a flurry of ripped clothes and loosened braids.

They are toxic, a lethal poison that is slowly killing them both. Sansa may have once referred to the toxin as love but she is no longer the stupid little girl that believed in songs.  
They continue this way for what seems like forever; executions, disputes, tangled sheets. It becomes a cycle that they cannot break- a routine as reliable as the rising of the sun.

Some days Sansa wonders if this will kill her- if Daenerys will ruin her- and most days she doesn’t have an answer. This doesn’t change anything- for she is destroying Daenerys in turn, and they are destined to share their deathbed.

Occasionally their fights linger- even after they’d lost themselves to the sensation of the other's skin- the piercing words from earlier can still be felt profoundly cut into the skin.

Daenerys is like wildfire after those fights. Irritable, uncontrollable and utterly crazed. Anything has the potential to set the Mad Queen off and the palace knows to stifle their coughs and not to shuffle in the halls.

A squire, no older than eight, had once stumbled during a court session and a coin had escaped his pocket- it hit the floor with a soft ting no harsher than a whisper- but deafening throughout the throne room.

He hadn’t even managed to sputter out an apology and beg for forgiveness before a guard had been ordered to silence him for good.

The Dragon Queen was easy to anger and wore her wrath like a fine string of pearls- displayed proudly on her breast for all to see. In comparison her beloved she-wolf kept her fury tucked neatly within her pocket like a handkerchief, hidden from view.

Her demeanour was as cold as the land she hailed from and her mask of indifference rested on her face securely- as steady and unbreakable as the wall had once been.

The thing about the she-wolf was she was just as quickly angered- just as likely to be consumed by rage at the wrong move, no matter how minor. Where Daenerys would call the guards and end it before it barely began- Sansa would wait.

A smile, sweet and sickly that did not reach her eyes. A tilt of the head and the thrumming of her claws against her seat. Those were the warning signs and when she spoke light and melodic almost lyrical- your fate was sealed.

“You are excused, sir.” Or an “I must retire my lady”

And they would be dead by morning. Often it was poison, seldom a proper execution. Many tried to escape, or to plea- but it always ended the same. The sun rising to the shuffle of guards removing a body. It was unclear if she too were mad like her lover, but her calculating gaze and controlled actions were too logical to call her entirely unhinged.

Dragons and wolves were not creatures to trifle with.

The tenth body in a sennight was carried through the servants quarters as the Kingswood was scorched with dragon fire. The Dragon and the Wolf had been at each other’s throats once again- neither willing to yield as the screams from their chambers ceased as Lady Stark refused to warm her Queens bed.

It had been a battle of words and tongue lashings at every meeting. Shouts of rage and spiteful silence that came to its climax when their hands wrapped around each other's throats within the throne room. Amongst the nobility and the members of the court, they strived to finally consume one another. For a fleeting moment, it had seemed as though they would kill each other- hold the other tightly until breath escaped them both and sent them tumbling down the steps of the throne and landing at the feet of the Lords and Ladies who fearfully watched the spectacle.

They growl and hiss, nails breaking the skin and leaving bruises. The air had crackled with electricity, the tension was suffocating. For a moment it seems another mad ruler is to turn purple and suffocate- this time accompanied by her cunning bride.

As quickly as it began it is over. Releasing one another they gasp for breath, easing the stiffness of their hands with the cracking of their knuckles. The court is dismissed and the Dragon and the Wolf are left to finish their battle.

It was a dance of sort, they circle one another- eyes locked with the promise of destruction. Teeth bared- they really do resemble monsters- like dragons and dire wolves. They howl and roar in turn and future tales would recount how the Queen and her Lady morphed into monstrous renditions of their houses sigils.

It’s a whirlwind of skirts and skin as they collide on the battlefield.

Like any battle, blood is shed and cries are let out. The blood comes from scratches and bites, and the screams- almost animalistic- come from pleasure. On the very floor of the throne room where they’d slaughtered so many- they destroy each other with the movements of their skin against one another and the collision of their lips. It’s violent and determined. They are out to consume one another.

They belong to one another and are doomed to die together. It’s a sweet poison- but it is not love.

The Red Keep burns and the court is left a pile of ash by the time the sun rises the next day. The common people rush for shelter and seek refuge in their homes- for the Queens are at war. And whether that war shall rage beyond the Red Keep has yet to be decided- but the burn marks that litter Kingslanding from flea bottom to the burning castle had not faded, and the people know to hide.

They watch the fires from the Blackwater, savouring the breeze. The wind is chilly and is refreshing against the heat radiating off the blazing keep. They stand together on one of the few ships left in the Targaryen fleet, a modest vessel that once carried less influential nobles who did not have the ranking to spend the journey on the Queen's voyager. The sea is the only noise above the loud crackles emitted from the burning castle. They say nothing as their hands intertwine, an apology, for they come to forgive each other once again. A new court will need to be created and the keep will need heavy repairs once again- but those are trivial matters. The Mad Queen and her Cruel Lady have reconciled and blood on their hands will not be what keeps them up at night. Ash rains down and like a Phoenix they are reborn, returning to routine- awaiting their next battle.


End file.
